


The End of the Over

by neveralarch



Category: Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-16
Updated: 2011-02-16
Packaged: 2017-10-19 09:51:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveralarch/pseuds/neveralarch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the false Master-alarm in medieval England, the Doctor wonders what the real Master has been doing with himself. Post-Planet of Fire and The Kingmaker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End of the Over

**Author's Note:**

> Features brief Ainley!Master/OCs dubcon.
> 
> Originally written for the best_enemies anonmeme.

"I'm so relieved that wasn't the Master back in England," said Peri. "I was sure he'd turned up to kill us all."

"I think that's a little unlikely, Peri," said the Doctor. "Given how I left him last, I doubt he's in much condition to do anything."

"Good," said Peri. "Now, I'm going to go sleep in my actual bed, with actual soft sheets, and an actual comfortable pillow. Being stranded in medieval England ruined my back."

"Sorry," said the Doctor, though he could hardly see how it was his fault. He fiddled with the TARDIS' knobs as he watched Peri leave, his mind on other things.

The Master was probably dead. Probably. Or severely injured. It was hard to think of the Master dead, not after all he'd done to stay alive. Injury seemed much more likely. He hadn't heard from the Master since Sarn, so perhaps he was convalescing. Given the Master's habits, he would probably be getting up to no good while doing so, too incapacitated to harass the Doctor but active enough to murder innocents.

The Doctor realized that he'd been recalibrating a section of the TARDIS controls idly while he thought. The panel in front of him could no longer control the water flow of the third-best bath, but it could track down a certain renegade Time Lord. With sufficient biodata to work from, of course.

The Doctor hesitated. Then he trudged off to his bedroom to retrieve what clothing the Master had left there last time they'd had the TARDIS to themselves - quite some time ago now. The Doctor walked quietly, so as not to disturb Peri or Erimem, and was soon back at the controls.

The Master was on a former Earth colony in the third space-age millennium. The Doctor recognized the place, but not for any strategic or historical value. Rather, Miandadia was home to a large community of cricket enthusiasts who had traveled across the stars in search of a home free from the perversions of baseball and vigoro. The Doctor had found them nice, if a little overzealous, and their decennial galactic cup was excellent.

It was near-on inconceivable that the Master had become a cricket aficionado since they'd last met. Really, he was probably ruining everything, perhaps even introducing softball. The Doctor shuddered, and then moved to direct the TARDIS' navigation controls. The Master had to be stopped.

The Doctor noticed that his cheeks felt sore and stretched, and realized he'd been grinning since the TARDIS had confirmed that the Master was still alive. He frowned immediately, glad no one else had been there to see him.

\---

The Doctor walked through the streets of Miandadia's capitol, Warnem. The people didn't seem particularly oppressed, but the stamps of the Master's rule were everywhere. The old murals of Test Series winners had been covered up with some rather amateur renditions of the Master's profile. The viewscreens on Main Street showed a cricket match, as always, but the global anthem had been replaced with a catchy tune about their dark-bearded lord. Not least, the old governor's house had been demolished and replaced with a citadel-like palace.

The Doctor rather thought he'd try there first.

\---

The Doctor snuck through the corridors quietly, wishing the Master had hired a proper interior decorator. His jacket and jumper stood out rather starkly against the deep black of the stone walls and the plush carpet, both of which the Master had almost certainly chosen himself. Someone who actually had any knowledge of design would have stuck with wood floors and neutral tones which would have muted the effect of the Doctor's beige outline.

A guard walked by and the Doctor flattened himself to the wall, feeling foolish. But the guard only nodded at him, with a bit of a leer which hardly seemed appropriate. Was it possible that the Master had expected him? But he would have surely given orders that the Doctor was to be caught and held for him, not allowed to have a nice wander.

The Doctor shook his head and continued walking, no longer bothering to try and conceal his presence. As he neared the inner chambers of the palace, the Doctor became aware of someone moaning, as if they were in pain. The Doctor blanched and began to jog toward the sound. The Master must be torturing someone.

The moans got higher and more desperate, and the Doctor broke into a run. He skidded to a halt in front of an ornate gold-edged door. He carefully cracked it open, preparing himself to spring into action.

The first thing the Doctor noticed was that he was right - beige and white really did stand out rather starkly against the black decorating scheme of the palace. He noticed this because there was a well-formed youth draped across practically every surface in the room, each with a variation of the Doctor's own costume. There were at least a dozen young men and women in cricket jumpers, coats, and striped trousers, each with a head of golden-blonde hair. Some had obviously had it dyed - the Doctor could see the black roots in the hair of one statuesque sleeping girl who might have been the descendent of the eponymous Miandad himself. But all in all, the Doctor could easily tell who these young people were meant to represent.

The second thing the Doctor noticed was the Master, who stood out not because of his coloration, but because of what he was doing. In his clothing, the Master was somewhat unconventional, but not unduly so. He had discarded his jacket - the Doctor spotted it hanging on a chair toward the back of the chamber - revealing a black t-shirt. His trousers were also gone, leaving him in boxers and bare feet. The Doctor had seen him dressed, or rather undressed, as such before, but only when they were alone. What the Master was doing, on the other hand, the Doctor had never seen.

The Master was on a large bed, having sex with fully three of the blondes. One man was hanging on his back, rubbing at his shoulders and mouthing at his neck. Another, a pretty woman with surprisingly muscular arms, had the Master's face in her hands, and was kissing him deeply. The third, a fragile-looking man, was under the Master. He was where the moans were coming from, unashamed and loud as the Master fondled his cock.

The Doctor felt his face heat, and he bit at his lip. His concerns about the Master introducing alternative ball-and-stick games seemed rather petty now.

The moans stopped for a moment, and then the man came with a scream that sounded almost practiced. The Master held his hand up, and the other man behind him leaned forward to clean the come off with his tongue. The woman pulled back to accommodate him, and her tongue slipped out of the Master's mouth. A thin thread of saliva still connected them, and the Doctor was briefly mesmerized by the glisten of it before the Master growled and pulled the woman back with his free hand.

The man on the bottom was starting to fidget, and the Master finally pushed the other two away, focusing his attention.

"Did you want something?" he asked. He sounded hoarse but content, and the Doctor began to wonder how long it had been since the Master had left this room.

"M-Master, I-" The man tried to push himself up on his elbows, but the Master was still straddling him, keeping him down with his weight.

"You don't deserve anything," said the Master, his tone becoming more harsh. "You left me, I _burned_ , you cruel little coward."

The Doctor was shocked. The Master seemed to be taking out his rage at the Doctor on these poor natives. The Doctor looked around the room again, reassuring himself that all of the unmoving bodies were asleep and not dead.

The young man, on the other hand, seemed unsurprised by the shift. In fact, he relaxed, as if slipping into a role.

"I'm sorry," he said, his back arching in another abortive move to sit up. "I didn't think, I was so scared."

"You should be scared now," said the Master. He eased off of the man for a moment, but only to move up his body, coming to a stop when his groin was level with the man's mouth. "You're sorry, Doctor? Show me."

The man moaned again and brought his head up enough to mouth the Master's erection through his boxers. The other two blondes moved in again, the woman supporting the man's neck and combing her fingers through his hair, while the other man kissed the Master lightly, awkwardly, his body twisted to the side to avoid the ongoing blowjob.

The Doctor decided there had been quite enough of that, and shoved the door open fully.

Annoyingly, it took the Master a while to notice the Doctor's entrance. The Master had his head thrown back and his eyes closed, and all of the blondes were occupied. The Doctor was reduced to standing just inside the chamber, trying to decide whether to interrupt or to wait.

The Doctor took a tentative step forward and managed to slip on a discarded white shirt. He didn't fall down, but it was a close thing, and he made some noise when he nearly crashed into a marble pillar.

The Master opened his eyes and looked around for the source of the commotion. His eyes glanced over the Doctor, who was changing his mind about beige being a camouflaging color, swept the room, and then came back again. He stared.

The young man under him moaned, oblivious, and started to pull the much-abused boxers down.

"Stop," said the Master, starting from his fugue. His voice squeaked a little as he got up, sending blondes flying. "Out. All of you, out!"

The three blondes scrambled out of the bed and out of the chamber, pulling and kicking their slumbering fellows until only the Doctor and the Master remained.

"Well," said the Master, trying to sound haughty. "To what do I owe this visit?"

The Doctor said nothing. Instead he looked the Master up and down, cataloging the marks others had left on him. Bruises on his neck and his thighs. Fingernail scratches along his arms. His lips were puffy and his hair was mussed. His hard cock was outlined in the damp material of his boxers as he stood on the bed.

The Doctor stepped back and closed the door.

"I expect you're going to moralize," sneered the Master. "Oh, Master, how could you do this to those poor children?"

"You were angry," said the Doctor, answering the question. "I shouldn't have left you on Sarn."

"I shouldn't have expected mercy," said the Master. His eyes glinted and his grin was entirely fake. "I shouldn't have asked for it."

"No," agreed the Doctor. "You shouldn't have." He took a step toward the bed and then another.

"Why are you here, Doctor?" The Master's fake grin disappeared and was replaced by a blank mask. "To stop me? To apologize?"

"Just checking in," said the Doctor. He was red again, he could feel it, but he didn't let that stop him from coming closer. He was at the foot of the bed now.

This close, it was obvious that the Master had been here for a while. Oh, he'd surely cleaned up a few times, he was nowhere near sticky enough, but there were little bruises and scratches all down his body, bitemarks and scraped skin. The Master liked being marked, the Doctor knew he did, but that was his prerogative, not that of some band of imitations.

Dimly, the Doctor knew he was being unfair. He had, after all, left the Master to die. In many relationships, that could be taken as a signal that it was over. But the Master had also taken over a planet and assembled a harem in order to act out his uncomfortably sexual revenge fantasies, so the Doctor felt secure in his belief that they weren't quite done with each other yet.

"Doctor?"

The Doctor looked up, into the Master's eyes. Then he stepped up on to the bed, wobbling a little as he tried to find his balance.

"Is an apology what you want?" he asked. "You want me to say sorry?"

"Yes," said the Master. He looked at the Doctor warily, but he didn't move away. "That would be a start."

"I'm sorry," said the Doctor, and pushed the Master backwards so that he fell prone onto the bed. The Doctor followed him down, landing with his knees straddling the Master's hips in a parody of the position he'd seen earlier.

"I shouldn't have left you. I should have helped you when you asked. I should have done things differently."

The Master looked up at the Doctor and started to say something, but the Doctor preempted him, running his hand down to cup the Master's erection. The Master gasped and bucked up, the question in his eyes fading to glazed arousal.

"Now," said the Doctor, leaning in. "I think you owe me something in exchange."

"I'm not going to apologize," said the Master slowly, between grit teeth. "I've done nothing wrong. No more so than usual."

"Oh?" The Doctor grasped the Master properly and the Master squeezed his eyes shut. "Is this normal behavior for you?"

Wordlessly, the Master shook his head.

The Doctor backed off, letting go of the Master and sitting back on his heels.

"No," gasped the Master, immediately. His eyes snapped open, slightly wild. "I haven't, not before, I'm so-"

"Shh," said the Doctor. "It's not an apology I want, I think. Take off those clothes."

"I see," said the Master, and his mood shifted again. He sat up and pulled the t-shirt off over his head slowly, displaying himself. The Doctor spotted more marks along his ribs, and need coiled in his stomach.

The Master's hips arched as he slid his boxers down and off, kicking them to the floor. He looked over at the Doctor and smiled, confident now that he knew what the Doctor wanted.

"How should this go, Doctor?" he purred, coming up on his knees to look the Doctor in the eyes. "Should I suck you off, or do you want me to-"

"How many of them fucked you?" asked the Doctor, abruptly. It was stupid and primitive, he knew, but it felt like claiming when you took someone like that.

"None of them, my dear," said the Master, eyes wide. He hissed when the Doctor bore him down again, and began to twist, only calming when the Doctor pushed his thigh between the Master's.

"Don't lie to me, if you can possibly help it. Which ones?"

"Only two," said the Master, trying to rub himself against the Doctor's leg. "The boy who was rubbing my back, before. The girl who was asleep by the door."

"What did you tell them to do?" The Doctor glanced around as he spoke and spotted a tube on the floor next to the bed. He tried to lean over to reach it without tipping over.

"Doctor, I don't think-" the Master grabbed at the Doctor's elbow to keep him from falling, "I'm not comfortable-"

The Doctor managed to snag the lube between two fingers and swung back to look at the Master, raising an eyebrow. The Master swallowed.

"I told them to swear and cry as they did it. To tell me that they were sorry, that I belonged with them always."

"Turn over."

The Master was silent as the Doctor prepared him. The Doctor himself kept quiet, let his breathing slow, let his focus narrow. The others, the mockeries of him were gone, and the Master was here, and he was his.

The Doctor curled his fingers, and the Master hissed.

"I never thought of you as a possessive man," he panted out, shattering the silence further.

"I'm not usually," said the Doctor, truthfully. That rankled, and he tried for a more flippant tone. "I've had a trying few days, actually. TARDIS malfunctioning, companions running off. I had to play historical figure musical chairs, which I don't recommend."

He removed his fingers, unzipping his fly with the other hand. The Master tensed, slightly, and the Doctor stroked his hair in time as he stroked his cock.

"Ready?" he asked.

The Master nodded, and pressed his face into the sex-stained sheets. The Doctor pushed into him, wet and slick and not as tight as he wanted it to be.

"You're the only constant in my life, do you know that?" he asked, tracing a bite on the Master's shoulder with his finger. "The TARDIS lets me down, the companions leave, and you stay the same. Scheming, surviving. Wanting me."

"You're still upset because I _cheated_ on you?" The Master shifted impatiently, but the Doctor didn't move. "You burned-"

The Doctor thrust then, not wanting to hear the accusation. The truth of the blame. But the Master had done terrible things as well, to more people, and then it always fell back to this, sticky warm bodies and stifled moans. The Master tried to speak and the Doctor reached down and fisted his cock. The Master growled and stuttered and said nothing coherent outside of the Doctor's name.

They came quickly. A slower pace would have meant letting up on the Master for a moment, and the Doctor couldn't have borne that. He collapsed on the Master's back, feeling wrung dry. He reached for the lighthearted tone he'd had earlier, but couldn't quite get there.

Just as before, the Master caught him.

"So, are we even? Should I get up and have you locked up so your companions can rescue you?"

"I'm not sure I want Peri and Erimem wandering around this planet," said the Doctor. "Especially if anymore of it is dedicated to the objectification of my body."

"It would be an education," suggested the Master. "But one I would also prefer they didn't have." He leaned closer, humming against the Doctor's neck. "Would you like to mark me some more, Doctor? I can arrange for your TARDIS to be cordoned for a little while."

"I don't know," hesitated the Doctor, but really he did. He had to go, he had to leave, he'd already said too much. But if he'd already said too much there couldn't be much harm in another hour or so, and-

"Doctor!" said Peri, throwing open the door. She took in the tableau and blushed down to her neck before covering her eyes. "Oh God, sorry! Sorry."

"Doctor, we have been looking for you everywhere." Erimem peered around Peri's shoulder. "Is that Shakespeare? I thought he was dead."

The Doctor considered whether it was actually possible to die of shame. Probably not, and anyway, he'd regenerate into a dreadful prude. He was afraid of heights after that last tumble, after all. And Peri already said he was a bit too modest. Perhaps he could just sneak out, and claim that Peri and Erimem had been imagining things, really girls, how could you think that that admittedly quite similar-looking person was me? There were, after all, several doppelgangers wandering around who might be pointed to as the actual person in question.

The Doctor looked across at the Master and his wide grin, and realized he would never, ever live this down. On the other hand, they probably really were even now.


End file.
